Sacrifice
by Ariana Lussier
Summary: What could King Balor have been thinking, when Prince Nuada reappeared after so long in exile? This is a one-shot, stream of consciousness story from Balor's point of view.


**Disclaimer:** _No, not mine, never will be. Dang it. **Watch the movie!** Now. Don't read this, just go watch it. You'll thank me later._

* * *

I am old, and the weight of ageless regrets has fatigued me beyond my time.

They revered us as gods once, and now barely a handful even knows of our legends. The world has changed too much from the days when we walked in harmony with all of creation. Humans were a child-race then, just beginning to come out of the caves where they cowered at the slightest sounds in the darkness that their weak eyes could not penetrate. Humans, every one born with a hole in their heart, which they are compelled to fill in any way they can, yet cannot, because they do not understand what they lack. Nor do I, though I have been pondering that riddle for millennia.

Now, we are faded gods. Shriveled from our former power. Was it because humans overran the land and devoured every scrap of nature in their infinite, confused hunger for what cannot satisfy them? We are creatures of the earth, bound to it in ways that transcend the physical. As the mountains have eroded, so too have we diminished. As the forests have vanished, so too have entire species and beings so ancient that even I cannot remember their creation. As the waters grow foul, so too have we sickened. As the skies have darkened with poison, so too have our dreams become nightmares.

I remember when humans killed us and we killed them. Endless days of battle with rivers of blood that choked the earth. There are some plains that were so drenched in slaughter that, even unto this day, no living thing will grow. When the land cried out in pain, when the blood of our kind - amber, green and blue - turned the soil into mud that clung to my knees, the trolls' creation seemed to be the answer to our pain.

But as the mud turned to crimson under their feet, we felt the world shudder and sicken. I knew we had made a terrible mistake. The humans were killed so quickly and in such numbers that they forgot the pain of their vacant hearts in their horror. We became gods then, terrible in their eyes, and that fear threaded into the very fabric of them. Humans fear what they do not understand, and they lash out to destroy what they fear. We are the reason for that.

I could not bear to use the Army again, yet in good conscience I could not bid the goblins to destroy it. Someday, the Army's implacable strength may be needed again, though I have fought every second since then with every fiber of my being, to prevent that need from ever becoming manifest.

So, the truce was struck. Each side agreed never to fight again. For thousands of years, we honored our side of the truce. Though we could not make war upon the humans again, we could balance the damage they caused. We used our magic and our lives to enrich the world, to give back to it when the humans would take away. For a time, we could maintain that balance between natural growth and human destruction.

Humans live such short lives. They have long forgotten of our existence. Perhaps that is yet another failure of mine; in maintaining the truce and the balance, I neglected to maintain their remembrance. I trusted that they would pass their histories down to their children and children's children as we do, but we are ageless, and thousands of generations of humans have been born and died without ever knowing of the past.

They have overtaken us now by sheer numbers. Every day they devour more and more, stuffing what they consume into the black pit of their hearts and still they hunger. The insanity of consumption is what they embody, and their prodigious breeding has destroyed the balance which we strove to maintain. They devour the world a little more every day, and through it, they destroy a little more of us as well. We do not make war upon each other, but the humans, all unknowing, have still found a way to kill us without battle. And yet, I cannot lay guilt upon them, for they have forgotten us and in their madness they cannot see beyond their hunger. They are to be pitied, not hated.

I cannot deny that the land has affected me. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. I wonder sometimes how much of my fatigue and despair come from past regrets, and how much from the slow death of our world. My thoughts have turned from pondering the riddle of human hearts to seeking a way for my people to survive. If a way is to be found, I must find it. The king is the head and the heart of the people. As the diminishing earth weakens me, I see it weaken my people through me. So many of us, sickened already by human hunger, sicken still further because of my infirmity. It is one of our oldest magicks. The health and strength of a people reflects the health and strength of its ruler. I watch my people fade before me; it is a constant, sharp reminder even when I am blind to that weakening in myself.

Nuala, my child, you understand me without words. I love you beyond all reason, and yet I cannot even bring myself to save you from the slow death that is overcoming us all. I thought once to send you away from this dying court, yet would any amount of distance help you? What would be your fate, so far from me? Would you live within human society like some of us do, scurrying within their shadows and gobbling their scraps? No, I think not. I think you would try to approach the ones who might understand. You and I both know that not all humans are mindless hungerers, but those rare few are so hard to find and I am so tired. You, daughter... you would find them. You would make them listen. Perhaps, perhaps you would be the one to bring our races back together. But in my darker moments, I believe that they are more likely to extinguish you, after taking everything you would give them and demanding more. No, you are not safe among them. You are not safe here. Where could you possibly go?

Already I know. Your brother. You would go to him. I spent centuries searching for him when he left us, but to no avail. You, however, are bound to him in ways that I can never understand nor stop. Why did I not send you to find him, when my efforts failed? I think it was because I knew you would have stayed with him, and I could not bear to lose you both.

Oh, my son. If only you knew these things when you walked into the chamber today. I thought for a moment that I was seeing a ghost of days long gone again, but the council saw you too. They saw you walk in, tall and dark and commanding. Your anger is not so fresh as it was back then, but it is in no way less than when you finally turned away from me a hundred lifetimes ago. You stride in, an answer to a prayer or to a nightmare. Which do you hold for us, Nuada?

You state your purpose plainly, without hesitation or apology. War, you claim, is the only way for our people, our very way of life, to survive. However, to do so means to dishonor ourselves by breaking an ancient truce and that I cannot do. I have not the will to live heedless of the cost. I would rather fade than deliver such horror upon the humans and the earth again. I cannot... it is too heavy... the burden of all that death is something I do not have the strength to carry. I recoil at first from the simple and terrible intent you bring to me.

But you... in your words of marble I hear implacable purpose. In your face of stone, there is the strength of resolution. In the proud lift of your head, I see the air of ruthless command. For the first time in seasons too long to count, I feel a stirring of hope.

The council is upset by your words; perhaps they think them madness. I think the council is right, and in my heart of hearts, I think you are too. The human madness is mindless, all-consuming. Yours is driven passion, focused on the good of our people. Perhaps madness is what's needed to battle madness.

But our people do not share that passion, and ultimately, my son, you will fail in your crusade. Not because you lack the strength, but because our people do.

And yet...

A moment of clarity, or insanity, touches me. The king is the land and the people. I am a fading king, and so they share my weakness, when they need to share your strength.

In times past, kings were sacrificed so that their blood would renew the land and people. Humans mistook this to mean literal blood, as if the earth were as hungry for death and destruction as they. What they do not know, what many of the fey do not realize, is that the blood needed to renew the land is not that of the king, but of his heir. It is your blood, Nuada, your fire that will revitalize us and, perhaps, give us a future.

I ask you if you are certain of your course. I must know your heart on this. Any doubt, any hesitation at all in you will doom us all.

Your gold eyes do not waver and do not drop. You face me, head held high, and give me your reply. Nothing in you is uncertain; your path, for good or ill, is a true one.

For the first time in eternity, I feel the weight of ages drop from me. You have come back to us in a time of need, and you are, against all my fears, ready to take the burden of the crown. You left us a hot-blooded prince, my son, but returned a king. In an instant, I choose. The sacrifice will be made.

Your sister's face freezes in fear as I pronounce the sentence of death. I do not think she quite understands what I mean, but I can see you do. You, who have led armies against humans and lived in exile learning their ways, you do. You took responsibility for your people long ago, and that, more than any crown or battle prowess, is what makes a king.

Thank you, Nuada, for understanding.

You turn and ask Nuala if she is at peace with my decision. I see the realization leap from you to her, and in the next moment, she nods and voices her agreement. You both know what must be done. I have remained silent about my weakness for so long, and now, with the both of you understanding so completely without words, I want to weep with joy and relief.

I am so very, very weary.

The guards, however, do not understand. They have protected me for thousands of years, and when you approach, they rush to defend me. I cannot stop them. This is one more test for you, for the king who will be. Your strength against theirs, proving before the council and all of our people what they will gain by you.

You move like the wind, like shadow given life. I can scarcely believe the changes in you. Before you left us, you were a formidable warrior, but always your movements were flourished and dramatic, as if you were ever aware of the eyes of everyone upon you. Now, nothing is wasted. Every movement gains you an advantage, or takes away one from your opponents. After only few seconds of deadly grace, you face the final two guards, the ones that stayed before me as the last line of defense.

I pray you will not use the Army, my son, but you must have the choice of doing so. Nuala, you hold the third piece of the crown. Remember where the scroll is hidden. Be his conscience and temper his wrath. Balance him, and all will be well.

I believe it. I must. I love you both.

Nuada, my heart swells with pride at who you have become, and the hope that you will save us all. You are the best of me, and I give you our future. Thank you, for all that you have done and all that you will do.

For that pride, for that hope, I will accept your final strike. The old king will die, and the new king will reign.

My son.


End file.
